


The Ao Akuma

by peachfuzzz



Category: Naruto
Genre: ANBU - Freeform, Anbu Hatake Kakashi, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, BAMF Hatake Kakashi, BAMF oc, Chakra Sensor, Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Humor, Hiruzen sucks, I don't want the Uchihas to die, I hate Danzo, M/M, Mangekyou Sharingan, Original Character Death(s), POV Multiple, POV Original Character, Possible smut, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Puberty, Rebirth, References to Depression, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Third Shinobi War, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Worldbuilding, if I continue this oc, lots of war and killing, slow burn like seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachfuzzz/pseuds/peachfuzzz
Summary: Abandoned - in the process of being rewritten :)Uchiha Haruki is different. He isn't sure how he knows this, he simply does. He's 1 years old when he realizes that he has the memories of another person from another world and wow that's - that's awesome.Until it isn't.Uchiha Haruki is living in a manga and he's going to die.Hatake Kakashi glances up at his best friend (although he'd throw himself into a platoon of Iwa nin before ever admitting this) and frowns. The Uchiha is lost in his head again, staring blankly into the distance as if it carries the answers to peace between the villages. Shaking his head, Kakashi swiftly pulls out the book Jiraiya sama offered him, the Sannin had said something about paradise?
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! This is a Naruto OC fic I started half a year back before I stopped because I didn't really like it, but I thought why not post it since I already wrote it lol. Anyways, I'm actually going to try to rewrite this OC fic, but I'd still love some feedback/comments on these few pages I have :)

**Intro Arc: _Dawn_ **

Uchiha Haruki is born in the early hours of dawn, gold rays painting a dark blue sky and a full moon still faintly glowing behind wisps of lavender clouds. He is born pale and red, wrinkled and tiny, small limbs flailing and lungs screaming into cold spring air; the seemingly normal delivery is easily accepted, tender smiles and relieved sighs dissolving the previously tense atmosphere. Uchiha Ayame and her husband of two years (lover since they were just freshly minted chuunin entirely unprepared for the horrors of the second shinobi war), Uchiha Ren, fondly stare down at the newborn held in her deceptively slim arms (Ren has seen those arms snap an Iwa nins neck). Still flushed red from birth and swaddled in a soft blue blanket, the tiny puffs of breath from the small bundled figure are the only audible sounds in the thick hushed silence that blankets the room, parents merely admiring the mini miracle with quiet awe. 

The newly birthed infant sleepily blinks his eyes open, left then right, a familiar obsidian known to Uchiha reflected in his sluggish gaze. Light purple streaks line the bottom of his eyes - a rare but not unheard of characteristic - furthering the stark contrast between ebony orbs and smooth white skin. 

“Don’t you think he looks more like a winter morning than a spring one anata?” Ayame whispers, the corner of her lips rising at the irony of the situation. 

“Perhaps we should’ve named him Miyuki then,” Ren quips, his own mouth slipping into an amused smile. 

Ayame raises a dark eyebrow, tilting her head back to stare at her husband, “A girl's name?” 

“Well, he does look like one does he not?” Ren replies, eyes flickering from his wife’s tired complexion (she’d need to rest soon he mused) to their son who had fallen back asleep. 

Shifting her gaze back to her son, Ayame takes in thin tufts of violet hair, supple skin pale as snow, and soft delicate features. “He is quite pretty,” she murmurs, a small smile on her lips and sleep tugging at her voice, “perhaps he’ll take after me then.” 

Rolling his eyes, Ren bends down and presses a firm yet gentle kiss to his son’s forehead, then reaches up to place one on his wife’s slightly damp one. Using his fingers to thread back his wife’s dark indigo hair he leans in,“I would be quite happy if Haruki ends up like you, Aya,” he whispers before bending back down to relieve his wife’s tired arms of their son. “I’m going to take him to the nursery and then I’ll come back okay? So sleep, you must be tired.” 

He watches as Ayame nods her head and mumbles out a weary, “Thank you honey.” 

He sighs, wondering and failing yet again, to understand what he did to deserve her. He’s loved her since they were young, her gentle but firm demeanor, her subtle sarcastic wit and fierce attitude both on and off the field. The day that she had dragged him through pouring rain and muddy trenches, all the while making snarky curses about how she was going to personally rip out his sharingans if the Kumo nin didn’t get them first, was the day he had prepared himself to spend the rest of his life courting her if need be. So when she had casually proposed to him on one of their routine tea shop trips, he had spit out the hot liquid, surprise and joy in his voice as he breathed out, _“Yes, yes, yes, Ayame.”_

  
“No. Thank you, Aya,” he says as he quietly walks out the room, his wife fast asleep and his son in his arms.


	2. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intro arc part II: Uchiha Haruki figures out why he's different...sort of.

Haruki rolls onto his side, eyes flitting between the tanned wooden bars that make up his crib and the pale green colored walls of his room. He reaches a small pudgy hand towards the smooth wood and furrows his brows at the infantileness of his body. He’s a baby, but that’s not the issue, the issue is that he’s fairly sure that a baby isn’t supposed to be like this. Whatever this is. Sighing, he sets his arm down, and flips himself onto his back so that he’s staring at the ceiling. It’s green, like the rest of the room.  _ Like matcha. _ How he knows what that is, he isn’t sure, much like the rest of the knowledge in his brain. 

_ It’s a pretty color.  _

Sucking on his thumb - he finds it provides him a weird sense of comfort - he observes as the morning light creeps into his room, warm reds and oranges melding into the wall like a ripe mango. His mind is splotchy, gaping holes in some places and brimming with information in others. While he doesn’t know much about babies, he does know that he’s different. The oddest part is that he doesn’t have any memories of what he knows, he simply knows things  _ instinctively _ : the sky is blue, he’s a baby, this is a crib, and apparently the language he thinks in doesn’t exist here. He figured the last one out about a month ago when he realized that he couldn’t understand his parents at all. He had blurted out some words - albeit vague and deformed but they still bore some resemblance to what they were supposed to sound like - and his parents had merely thought he was babbling as babies do. 

That had been equal parts confusing and frustrating, though he was slightly relieved they didn’t understand him. He has no idea what is the normal age for first words, but he has a feeling he hadn’t reached it at the time. At least now he has a somewhat basic grasp of the language. Problem is, it hasn’t helped to answer any of his questions (he has an inkling not much will). 

With another tiny sigh, he shifts back to his side and closes his eyes. In the darkness of his mind he reaches out towards the two fiery bundles of energy moving around, his parents. He isn’t sure what exactly he’s feeling and he doesn’t remember when he first started doing this (or how he even knows how to do this), but he finds comfort in the steady warmth that it provides. Soaking in the feel and safety of his parents, he drifts to sleep, thumb hanging loosely in his mouth and sunlight slanting into the room. 

<< >>

“Okwaa,” Haruki gurgles out, an adorable smile on his face as he watches his mom abruptly drop the silver spoon in her hand, his bite of food going down with it.

Inwardly, he cackles at his dad’s bulging eyes and whines of, “O-tou, Otou san, Haruki, O-tou san, can you say that?” 

“O…” he sounds out, staring into his dad’s eyes, bright with anticipation, “kwaa san!” He finishes, smile widening at the despair and tears leaking into dark flinty eyes. He giggles as his dad begins repeatedly face planting into the dark mahogany wood that makes up the dinner table. 

Really, he loves this family. At least he thinks he does, love is a weird concept that he doesn't know much about it. 

“Ren, it’s not that big of a deal,” his mom says in an attempt to comfort her husband, but the slight twitch of happiness at the corner of her lip betrays her otherwise indifferent demeanor. 

Haruki’s dad sharply snaps his head up, violet curls swaying with him as he levels a glare at his wife. “Really…” 

“...Really. His first word just happened to be mom, no big deal,” Haruki’s mom assures, the twitch at her lip growing more noticeable each second. 

“...and second. His second word too.” His dad mumbles, voice so heavy with sadness that Haruki almost feels bad.  _ Almost _ . But this is what his dad deserves for constantly leaving Haruki and his mom for what seems like months at a time (it could be no more than a week, but  _ still _ ). The worst part is that his mom doesn’t even seem bothered by it, on the other hand Haruki is extremely bothered by it. While his memories of his first couple months are fuzzy, he distinctly remembers the constant presence of his dad’s warmth, his smell of metal and wood and something bitter. Now, that smell has become increasingly rare and Haruki isn’t pleased by that. 

“Do you think it’s because I’m always on missions Aya?” Ren asks, reaching a hand across the table and lightly fluffing Haruki’s baby hairs with a calloused hand. “Am I going to be missing out on my son’s childhood?” 

Haruki curiously watches as his mom presses her lips together into a thin line, a dim light reflected in her onyx eyes. A somber silence settles into the room before his dad sighs and wipes off a grain of rice stuck to Haruki’s cheek, “I’m sorry Aya. I wish I could be here more, truly -” 

“No! Ren, I’m fine. We’re fine. We’re shinobi of Konoha, it’s our duty.” his mom sharply interrupts, gently placing her own slender hand on top of her husbands that’s resting on the table. “Anyways, you’re the one who’s going out on these missions, not me. I’m the one who’s sorry,” she shakes her head, “maybe…” she glances at him, “maybe I should start preparing to go back to the field, it’s already been 4 months after all.” 

“What? No Aya, I’m not letting you do that,” Ren admonishes, tangling his fingers with hers, “Shinobi or not, out of the two of us, I’d rather you be here with Haruki. Regardless, Iwa’s been getting quiet lately. I'm worried that they might be planning something, but there’s been intel that they’ve been getting increasingly preoccupied with Kumo.”

Surprise flitters across his mom’s face, “Kumo? I thought they had a truce with Iwa.” 

“They did, but you know how that Onoki is...there have been skirmishes between the two in Yugakure.” 

Ayame frowns, “The 3rd Raikage isn't the type of person to stand for that.”

“Exactly,” Ren nods, “Kumo will probably retaliate sooner or later, and I doubt that Iwa will be able to send forces to both our borders.” 

“Tch. They shouldn’t have been sending forces to the borders in the first place, does Iwa not want peace? After all those deaths in the second great war…” his mom grits out, anger flashing in her eyes. 

Ren clasps Harukis mom’s hand with both of his, softly caressing her knuckle with his thumb, “I know, we all feel that way, but look on the brighter side of things. With Iwa busy fighting Kumo, Konoha won’t need as many jounin at the borders. Maybe not for long, but still, it could mean I won’t have to be deployed for a while.” 

Haruki’s mom looks up at her husband, a worried but hopeful look in her eyes. “Yea, maybe,” she whispers as if afraid it won’t come true if she says it any louder. 

<< >>

Haruki gnaws on the rubber toy his dad brought home for him two weeks ago, coincidentally also the last time he saw him; he gnaws a little harder at that thought. Interestingly enough, the toy is in the shape of a knife, something he had initially found odd. 

_ “Kunai,” his mom says as she playfully waves the toy around, a smile on her face, but something sad in her eyes.  _

_ “Ku-nai,” Haruki repeats, staring at the knife curiously. He furrows his brows at the strange feeling swirling in him at the sight of the toy.  _

_ “Wah! My Haru kun is so smart,” she exclaims, ruffling his hair.  _

_ Haruki beams at that, the tips of his ears a little pink and train of thought already forgotten. He likes it when his parents praise him.  _

Haruki flips the toy and stuffs the handle of the kunai into his mouth. Why did he think so strangely of the toy when he first saw it? Even after pondering over it, he hasn’t been able to reach an answer, it had just felt...wrong. As if it wasn’t  _ right _ to be giving a baby a knife, but why exactly? Frustration ripples through him at that answer, or rather lack of one. He has so many questions about the world, yet how is he supposed to answer them when he’s stuck in a crib all day.

Also, he kind of misses his dad. Just a little. 

Grumpily, he rips the toy out of his mouth and flings it at the wooden bars surrounding him. The kunai tumbles out of his pudgy hand and lightly rebounds off the bars back onto his face. He squawks, arms flailing and falls onto his bed with a soft plop. 

A low chuckle, rough and slightly scratchy, but familiar, oh so familiar, swirls through the room and has Haruki sitting up in seconds. 

By the time he’s managed to lift himself up, his dad is standing before his crib. His large calloused hands wrap themselves around Haruki’s small body and presses him safely against his broad chest. Haruki bursts into sobs (okay he missed his dad a lot) chubby arms weakly reaching around his dad’s neck as he tucks his head under Ren’s - usually smooth, but now lightly stubbled - chin. 

“Shh...gomenasai Haruki, gomen,” his dad murmurs, one hand comfortingly rubbing his back, turning Haruki’s sobs into quiet sniffles. 

“Tou san,” Haruki mumbles, stuffing his tear stained face into his dad’s chest and inhaling, the smell of metal and dirt filling his nose. He wrinkles his nose at that, the metallic smell is different than usual, more rusty than the iron he’s familiar with. He leans back and rubs at something wet on his cheek. “Tou san?” he mutters this time questioningly, staring down at his tiny finger now lightly stained red. 

Red. 

“Tou san!” He blurts out, shocked. 

“Mm? What is it Haru- oh no, I got you dirty,” his dad says, swiftly using the ends of his navy blue sleeve to wipe off the blood. “Gomen Haruki, your tou san missed you so much,” his dad playfully pinches Haruki’s nose, “so I didn’t have time to change.” 

Haruki, still slightly baffled, rubs at his nose before taking a second to really look at his dad. Ren is smiling at him, but the weary lines against his skin coupled with his ever darkening eye bags has Haruki’s fists tightening around his navy blue shirt. Ren’s wearing his usual silver headband, tied under his dark violet hair, the worn metal dimly glinting under the yellow light of the room. There's the familiar fan (Mom had called it the “Uchihwa fan”) stitched into the shoulder of his turtleneck, but it, like the rest of the shirt, is dusted in grime and what he now realizes is probably dried blood. 

Shinobi. Second great war. Blood. Missions. Kunai. The implications are getting increasingly obvious, but Haruki’s less concerned about the likely possibility that he’s living in a war torn world, than the fact that his Dad is injured. He hates, with a deep passion, the thought of either of his parents getting hurt. 

He absolutely hates it. 

(oo00oo)

Haruki is 1 years old and trying to read, albeit failing. Sitting on the smooth tatami mats his obsidian eyes glide over the words in his favorite book (a retelling of the Nidaime’s fight against the Kinkau butai, how awesome was that!), furrowing his brows he tries to figure out the strokes and curves that are so different compared to another language he knows. He still doesn’t know how he knows this other language, he just does. 

He wants to ask his mom for help, but she’s washing the dishes, so frowning - though on his tiny face it looks more like a pout - he goes over the words again, confusion sadly only increasing. After a couple minutes of failing to read anything, he decides to just focus on the pictures, perhaps he’ll figure something out. Flipping the page, he runs a pudgy finger across a sketch of Tobirama. It’s his favorite one in the whole book; a dragon of water spans across half the page and Tobirama stands before it, coated in a deep blue aura and hands clasped together to form Tori. His shaggy silver hair and happuri are slick with blood, but his eyes are narrowed, something fierce and determined in those ruby colored eyes. 

This was a Kage ready to die for his village. 

Suddenly, large calloused hands muss his inky violet tufts and he melts into the familiar embrace, his dad’s musky scent of metal, tea, and fire enveloping him. 

Ren lifts Haruki’s toddler body onto his thigh, securely holding him in place with one steady arm as he learns over and picks up the book with his other. His dad stares at the book for a second, a flicker of contemplation in his eyes and then it’s gone, replaced by a smile, “Oh, Haru. Do you want tou san to read you this again?” 

Haruki shakes his head, chubby fingers pointing at the pages and then himself, gazing at his dad expectantly, “I wanna read book.” 

his dad eyes him then the book, “Yes Haru, tou san will read you this.” 

Haruki gives a small pout and crosses his chubby arms causing Ren’s lips to quirk in amusement. Really his son is too cute. “Aah, you want me to teach you how to read?” 

Haruki tilts his head back, staring up into his dad’s matching black orbs, “Hn,” he lets out before promptly sitting back up. 

Behind his small head, he can feel his dad’s broad chest rumble with amusement, “Hai, hai, you little genius.” 

Haruki smiles, then squints, his head suddenly smarting. Memories flash through his mind, his vision suddenly full of places he’s never seen and people he’s never known. He shakes his head, heart beating loudly in his ear and the images fade, but the pain gets worse. “Un, tou san,” he says, voice tight and wobbly and vision now becoming dimmer. 

“-aru? Haru? Haruki!” Haruki vaguely recognizes his dad’s firm arms curled around his trembling body, his throat hoarse with cries of pain. The warm energy he’s always felt in his core now feels like a thunderstorm, chaotic and static unlike it’s usual steadfast nature. It only helps to worsen the anxiety and pain flitting through him and eventually, all turns black. 

At one years and 2 months, Uchiha Haruki’s developing brain - with the help of his excess spiritual energy - is finally developed enough that he can process the memories it’s kept tucked away. 

Interestingly enough, a lifetime's worth of memories. Memories of another person. 

<< >>

Haruki opens his eyes to yellow, it’s a soft color, like sunlight during the spring, and it also means he’s not in his room. Lifting up a hand to the ceiling, he stares up at his fingers, making sure that they're still the same pudgy one’s he’s known all his life. He breathes out a small puff of air, relieved that while he somehow has these spotty memories of another person in another world (which is so cool, he’d have to ask his parents about alternate worlds!), he’s still Haruki. He just hopes that he won’t wake up one morning in a body and world that isn’t his, the mere thought of that happening to him has shivers crawling down his spine. 

With a brief sigh, he brings his hand back down and closes his eyes, receding into the back of his mind and spreading out his senses. For the first time, there are several bundles of energy, each varying in size and what he assumes are the energies of people. Annoying. He’s never had to to find his parents like this. Furrowing his brows, he takes in a deep breath and falls deeper into the inky recess of his mind, carefully searching for the two flames he’s so familiar with. It takes a bit, but eventually he finds them; unlike the others, his parents' are more...detailed he notes. His mom feels like scorching winds, but in a gentle way, like a warm blanket on a summer day, while his dad is a wildfire, like burnt ash and crumbling dirt. 

He’s safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some clarification for my beautiful readers! Uchiha Haruki was indeed reincarnated, however it was a failed reincarnation if you would say. He wasn't supposed to retain any memories, but as you can guess something went wrong. Anyways, Haruki is more child than adult, the memories that he does have of this "other life" are very very spotty. As in, he doesn't have a complete grasp of this other life and he views those memories as more of the memories of a different person's rather than his. However, Haruki has some preconceived notions as a result of these memories. Like how playing with knives as a baby just feels...wrong.


End file.
